Golden in Death(56)

“I could see that for myself. But that’s not about Grange.”

“In a way it is. Every headmaster sets a tone, leaves a mark, has a vision. She was ambitious, and why shouldn’t she be, and initially I thought her ability to court deep pockets could only benefit the school. She wasn’t an educator, or was no longer interested in being one, and that sets a tone, doesn’t it?”

“You tell me,” Eve countered.

“Yes. She was solid as assistant headmaster—not like our Kim, who’s a treasure, but solid. And initially, when she took over, she seemed steady enough. But it didn’t take long before that changed, in my opinion.”

“In what way?”

“The focus on those deep pockets took over. If a student had those pockets behind him or her, it became clear there would be little to no consequences for poor behavior, for missed work, poor grades. Factions often form under such a tone. Action—or inaction—and reaction. Some students—often ones like Mac—were cornered, humiliated, ganged up on with impunity. Or a pretense of disciplinary action.”

He angled his head. “You don’t seem surprised by this. You know all this already.”

“Did you know Jay Duran when he taught here?”

“Of course. Different areas, but we teachers know each other. You’ve spoken to Jay? He’s at Columbia now, or was when I last spoke to him.”

“When was that?”

“In December. Some of us still get together for a little holiday cheer.”

He doesn’t know, Eve thought. “Mr. Duran’s wife was killed this morning.”

“What?” He pushed off the stool, shock lurching him to his feet. “But— How? Wait. No. The same? The same?”

“Yes.”

Standing, he pressed his hands to the sides of his head. “This is horrible.”

“Who was here, student or staff, during the end of Grange’s tenure and the start of Rufty’s who resented the change, who had an aptitude for what you teach?”

“My God, I don’t know. I can’t think who … Jay’s wife—I can’t think of her name now—she had nothing to do with the school.”

“Mr. Duran complained about Grange, complained about the cheating, the bullying, and so on.”

“So did I, so did many of us. What does that…”

Sharp mind, Eve saw as it clicked for him.

“My wife, my family.”

“I’d advise you to tell your wife, your family not to open any packages. You can report any delivery to me.” She dug out a card, set it on the counter. “We’ll have it scanned.”

“I don’t understand how anyone could … I’d know if anyone used my labs. I’d know if anyone accessed the chemicals, the equipment. There were some issues, in the last year or so of Grange’s rule, and in the first few weeks of Martin’s.”

“Such as?”

“Accessing swipe cards or cloning them, using the lab and supplies to make stink bombs, smoke bombs, flash bombs.”

“Do you have names?”

“I couldn’t identify them. I didn’t have evidence to point fingers. Suspicions, and I wanted to have meetings with the students I thought might have been a part of it, or who might know who did. Grange vetoed it. I couldn’t be sure, so she wouldn’t have students, and their parents, embarrassed.”

“Protecting the bottom line?” Eve suggested.

“I believe that absolutely,” Rosalind said without hesitation. “Mar tin took a different route. When it continued after he came on, he held a full assembly, gave notice. Any student involved would face automatic suspension. Any student covering for one involved would lose privileges—no sports, no school activities.”

“Did it stop?”

“Not right away, no. But a case in point. Before Grange left, one of the students was physically assaulted because he refused to cheat. His parents brought him in, and Grange dismissed it because the boy was afraid to name names. But they came back in after Martin took over. He had a private meeting with them, and with other parents and students with complaints. At the end of the day, eleven students were suspended. There was hell to pay from parents. Martin kept it contained, but we all knew, hell to pay. Several of those students didn’t come back.”

“Names?”

“God, I’m not clicking right on them—my mind is spinning. We’d have records.”

“I’m getting them now. Do you recall if any of those students had an aptitude for chemistry?”

“The boy who’d been attacked—Miguel … I’ve lost the last name. But he ended up in my advanced class. He was here on scholarship, and went to—damn it—I think MIT, earned several scholarships. Kendel Hayward—spoiled young woman, and one who liked to humiliate others. She came back, seemed to settle down.”

“Was she involved in the beatdown?”

“I don’t think so. The gossip was it was two boys—maybe three?—who wanted him to cheat for them. She likely ran with them though,” Rosalind mused. “She ran with a rough crowd. My impression was Kendel’s parents gave her an ultimatum. She did satisfactory work in my class, before and after. But after, she stopped mouthing off. There were others. Damn it, I’m sorry. Kendel was tight with one of the boys. Maybe more than one.”